Magical Mystery Meal
by Nimbus 1944
Summary: Don't play with your food.


**Magical Mystery Meal  
Don't play with your food.**

_Pop a Poppler in your mouth  
When you come to Fishy Joe's  
What they're made of is a mystery,  
Where they come from, no one knows.  
You can pick 'em, you can lick 'em,  
You can chew 'em, you can stick 'em,  
If you promise not to sue us,  
You can shove one up your nose._

-Verrone, _The Problem With Popplers_

"This could be interesting," said Hermione, with her nose in the Daily Prophet. "Different, at the very least." She passed it around, opened to a page of advertising.

"Magical Mystery Meals?" read Harry.

"That's the one," said Hermione. "It's some sort of new restaurant. They haven't disclosed what cuisine it'll be, or how it's served, or anything. No one knows what it is yet."

"Ooooo! Mysteeeerious!" mocked Seamus.

"Very. Not even the Rita Skeeters of the world have cracked the secret. The restaurant's finally opening in Hogsmeade and London next Saturday noon, according to this advert. Ginny and I are going to reserve seats in Hogsmeade for opening day, just for fun. Anyone feeling adventurous?"

Ron nodded. "It can't be any worse than taking a chance on the Hogwarts menu, can it?" He was still a bit peeved because there was no chicken the previous evening.

"I guess that means we're going, then," said Harry.

"Okay, that's a table for four so far. Anyone else?"

Luna pondered the idea. "Are you sure they have tables? It would be nice if they do. I might want to go, then. I wouldn't imagine I'd like eating whilst standing up."

"We'll probably sit down, Luna — but, considering how little we know, it'd be reasonable to ask if we're sitting at a counter or table. Maybe they'll tell me that much! That's five of us..."

"I'll take a chance," said Neville finally. "It can't be too bad, right?"

"Stay alert, Neville," taunted Seamus. "It might be staffed by Cornish pixies, y'know."

"They wouldn't do that, would they?"

"Ignore him, Neville," reassured Hermione. "We'll be fine."

-o-

They did well to reserve. The following Saturday, despite long lines, their group was among the first into the restaurant, using a whispered password to open the door. There was no maître d', so they chose a quiet table for six on their own.

The room was dimly lit with old chandeliers, and at each table, there was a centerpiece of two candles and what looked like a quarter-size model of the Sorting Hat. They chatted awhile about the decor, and looked to see who else was dining. The conversation finally came around to the singular lack of restaurant employees. Unbeknownst to them, a willing servant had been waiting patiently since they sat down, and only then spoke up.

"Are you ready to order, then?" said a voice from the centerpiece.

Ron picked the hat up. "Did you hear this thing say something?"

"It might be a wireless speaker," started Hermione, but then she changed her mind. "No, wait. It can't be. You can't use electricity here."

"Ahem," said the hat. "One would think Hogwarts students would be used to hearing hats talk, without a need for electricity."

"A talking hat." said Ron. "Hopefully, you don't sing."

"Only on Karaoke Tuesdays. I'm joking, of course! But I do take your orders, and if you're ready, young man, you may proceed."

"Yeah, but we haven't seen a menu."

"You don't need a menu at Magical Mystery Meals. I am your Ordering Hat. Just put me on, and I'll discern what you would most like from our extensive stock of fresh food today, and let you know."

"Great chance of that coming out right. Alright, let's see what you pick for me." Ron put it on. The tiny hat looked rather silly to the others, perched high atop his unruly mound of hair, and Luna found it hilarious.

"Hmm," said the hat. "The obvious crying need here is for chicken. How about Fried Chicken Heidelburg?"

"I like this place already," grinned Ron, and put the hat on Ginny.

"Hmm. An adventuresome type, and a trim waistline. For you, perhaps, the Forbidden Forest Salad."

"Fine!" shrugged Ginny with a smile, and put it on Hermione.

"Hmm. Been to the continent, and you're used to out-of-the-ordinary dishes. I'll suggest the Pasticho Scheherazade."

"Haven't a clue what that is, so okay," and she put the hat on Harry.

"Hmm. Raised by plain-food gourmands. How would a half-pound hamburger on a bun do on your first visit?"

Harry chuckled. "Not a great dining adventure, but I can't go wrong with that." He put it on Luna.

"Hmm. _'Surprise me,'_ your mind says. I can do that. A nice, tender Crumple-Horned Snorkack filet for milady?"

Her already-wide eyes widened more. "Really, you've caught a _snorkack_?"

"Well, today it's available, as luck would have it. Other days, other dishes. We may have some roast Bandywink for you next week, if you're interested. Don't let it get around, or everyone will want it. And the last gentleman?" Luna put the hat on Neville.

"Hmm. Quite into studying aquatic plants, rather than eating them. Perhaps some other dish from the deep. Mediterranean Calamari, shall it be?"

"Yes, that would do," replied Neville adventurously, having no idea what calamari might be.

"Very well," said the hat. "Diced fruits on lettuce is served with all entrees. And, I take it, Butterbeer is wanted all around?" Everyone agreed at once.

"So far, so good," said Neville, replacing the hat in the centerpiece.

"Oh, but there's so much we don't know yet," observed Luna. "Isn't it exciting? It's like finding a pyramid, sticking one inch out of the desert, and not knowing if it's six feet high or six hundred."

Ron wasn't worried. "As long as they fry up chicken right, they're fine with me."

Six pints of butterbeer, all in a row, floated through a high window from the doorless kitchen. Like ice skaters, they danced their way around the chandeliers, rounded a post, formed a tight circle over the table and clinked in unison, then landed gently in front of each of the diners without spilling a drop. Harry raised a toast to his fellow adventurers — he almost called them marauders — and they relaxed and chatted, awaiting their magical mystery meals.

They weren't too long in waiting. A few minutes later, six dinner plates exited the kitchen, danced along the same route as before, and floated down to the table. Condiments came in a parade of small bottles and jars, landing in a staccato series of raps around the centerpiece.

Then, the mystery part of their meals took over. Ginny was the first to notice, and nudged Hermione.

"Um... My Forbidden Forest Salad is... _growing_."

She was right. The leafy base of it seemed to be putting out vines. The rest of it was moving about and making the strangest noises, as though it crawled with unseen life.

Hermione couldn't help at the moment; she had a problem as well. Her Pasticho Scheherazade had stood on end in the dish, assumed a shapely form, and was moving about in an exotic dance. When Hermione tried to use her fork, the food deftly sidestepped it without missing a beat.

Ron was rather entranced by the dancing pasticho. It was most sensuous, he thought. He almost wanted to trade dishes so he could watch it without Hermione's attempts to stab it, until the scent of fried chicken brought his mind back to planet Earth.

Once he looked at his chicken, he knew he had a challenge of his own. His Chicken Heidelburg, it seemed, had taken advantage of his distraction to seize his knife. Ron tried to approach it with a fork, which only proved that the chicken was prepared to duel. Implements clanked as the diner and his lunch battled it out.

With all this going on, Harry was glad for the simplicity of his meal — until he started to eat.

"Ow!" said the burger.

"What?" said Harry, annoyed.

"OW, I said! What did you expect me to say when you just _bit_ me? 'Thank you, sir, I'll have another,' or what?"

"You're food. I'm _supposed_ to bite you."

"Oh, really? You're the type to take advantage of the downtrodden, are you? You like showing off your superior social status to someone lower on the food chain?"

"That's life."

"Oh, sure, talk about life to ground-up processed meat, why don't you. Rub it in. Make me feel really bad. Let's put _you_ through a meat grinder and see how you like it!"

Harry smirked. "This is the last time I have minced meat rare."

"Sure, cook me longer! That should shut me up! Let's put you on a griddle until you're seared and blackened. Can I watch?"

"I hope you're not allergic to pepper sauce and lettuce."

"You're not listening, are you? You don't really care what I think!"

"Are you ever going to quiet down so I can eat in peace?"

"Oh, bite me!"

"Seriously wrong answer." A good chunk of the burger disappeared into Harry's mouth, with a last muffled groan. "Yeah," he said, munching. "Much better with pepper sauce." He had no trouble after that.

Luna, meanwhile, was looking for her Snorkack filet, which had crawled off the platter and was zigzagging around the condiments toward possible sanctuary in Ginny's salad jungle. Luckily, Neville's calamari had snaked a tentacle across its path, and seized the errant Snorkack as it went by.

"Thank you, Neville," said Luna, pinching the tentacle and retrieving her lunch. "You're like oil on stormy waters."

That remark sparked an idea in Ginny's head — and none too soon, as tendrils from her meal had enclosed her fork hand. She reached for the bottle of salad oil, and poured some on. The vines trembled and released her; the rest of her jungle stopped crawling, twittering and fluttering so she could eat.

Hermione found a more mundane way of soothing the dance fever in her food — well, mundane for a witch, anyway. She reached for her wand and flicked an _Immobilus_ spell at the plate. It did one last exotic bump, and she calmly went about eating.

Ron was enjoying his duel with the chicken altogether too much. Harry shook a bit of poultry seasoning on it, and the duelist died a most dramatic death, worthy of the worst ham actor in an opera. Even when Ron had it half-eaten, it was still going through the motions.

That left Neville. Unfortunately, he was still dealing with an unruly dish of calamari.

"Any ideas to make it stop, someone?" he groaned, wiping off the ink which it had shot in his face.

"Maybe it's like a boggart," suggested Luna, calmly. "Perhaps you have to exert your authority, to make it do what you want."

"Oh," he said. "Yeah. Show it who's boss." He exuded every ounce of confidence and strength, directed at his entree, and it shuddered and went still. "Yeah," said Neville, surprised at his own willpower. "Boss... yeah!" He relaxed and joined the others in dining.

The rest of the meal was relatively calm, although the volcano of hot chocolate in Neville's dessert never stopped erupting. They agreed that they would highly recommend the place to others still on line outside. They wouldn't disclose anything about the restaurant, though; that would remain part of the mystique. Even when the secret was out and everyone had learnt the restaurant's ways, each person would still have to solve a unique mystery meal on every visit.

The group left well-fed and entertained, and the hat shouted "Come again!"

As their plates and other paraphenalia floated away, the hat on an adjacent table leaned over and whispered, "You let them off much too easily."

Their Ordering Hat chuckled. "Be patient, now; let them have their fun and games today. But oooh, next time! The Bandywink's just one surprise in store for them. Heeheehee..."


End file.
